Be Careful What You Wish For
by Lady Moe
Summary: He hated being a twin, not having a separate identity. But he lived with it. Until one night, he couldn't take it any more. Rated for mild language and suggestive themes.


I do not own Harry Potter

He hated being a twin. More than anything else, he really _despised_ being a twin. It wasn't Fred's fault, he knew. It wasn't his parents' fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. He had a brother that looked almost exactly like him and there was nothing he could do to change that.

But that didn't make him like it even one bit more. He wasn't his brother. And he didn't like when people looked at them as one entity. They were two separate people with two separate lives, joined by a family and a face. Locked together, fates entangled by the similarities in their ears, nose, freckles, and mischievous smile. And no matter how hard he tried, he could never _un_tangle them.

Don't get me wrong, he loved his brother. Fred was his best friend, the one who had his back. In fact, he loved having Fred for a brother; and if he _had _to have a twin, Fred would be his first pick. Fred knew him better than he knew himself sometimes; he knew that he hated spiders almost as much as Ron, knew that he loved snow and ice more than Quiddich itself, and knew that he secretly enjoyed Arithmacy (and had agreed to take it with him). Yeah, Fred was the best twin a guy could ask for. Fred wasn't the problem.

_The problem_ was the rest of the world.

The rest of the world saw only his face and his mischief, linking it to his brother's almost immediately. The sad part is, even the mischief itself was more Fred than him; yeah, he loved pranks, but nowhere _near_ as much as Fred did. Fred was just more noticeable than he was. Ever wonder why it was always "Fred and George" as opposed to "George and Fred"? It was because they saw Fred first; he was always the afterthought. Fred was always the first to speak, the first to come up with the ideas, the first to do, well, just about everything.

And though he knew it wasn't Fred's fault, he was jealous.

Just once, he'd like to be recognized, not as "one of the twins", but as him. George Weasley. A human being. A separate entity. The one that loved to laugh, but also loved to think. The one who made all Fred's crazy ideas possible. The one who wanted out of the background.

He wanted an identity.

And once, out of desperation, anger, and frustration, he told Fred so.

It was the year of the war. The year everything changed. The year Angelina Johnson showed up on his doorstep.

Oh, he remembered Angelina, all right. She was part of their crowd back at Hogwarts. And she was Fred's girl. For a long, long time, she was Fred's girl. Fred was the one who broke it off, ages ago, back after the whole thing with getting kicked off the Quiddich team. They left soon afterward, and Fred had no idea that she still was infatuated with him. Not that Fred would have cared; he was over her completely. But there was one thing Fred didn't know: his twin resented the fact that she was _ever_ Fred's girl.

Yeah, he had liked Angelina. She was pretty, and smart, and cool, and just, well, seemed so perfect. But Fred had too. And Fred had acted on that. Because Fred was braver, more spontaneous. And Angelina had liked him. So he won the girl.

And he hadn't.

And so it went on like that, for about a year, watching Fred and Angelina walk hand in hand, laugh, smile at one another, kiss, and all the rest. He bit his lip and pretended he was happy about it, that he didn't mind, that he supported Fred no matter what, when in reality he wanted to tear his twin's head off every time he saw them together.

And then they got banned from the Quiddich team. Angelina, as captain, had tried to be sympathetic, but her anger was clear. She was NOT happy. She didn't like this one bit. And quite frankly, Fred got tired of dealing with her. So he dumped her. Exactly three days before their flight.

And he was happy. So _incredibly _happy.

He had a joke shop. He had his freedom. His brother was by his side, but they still had separate apartments. And the girl of his dreams was single once more.

God, he was happy.

Though he didn't see much of her till about two years later.

And at that time, he was NOT happy.

Who _could _be?

One brother was scarred in more than one way, his flesh ripped to shreds by a madman and his wedding ruined by that grave announcement. Another was trapped within the belly of the devil, a hand over his eyes and fingers in his ears, denying everything. His sister was locked in a school run by torturers. And his youngest brother was missing, off on some crazy mission to save the world, along with his two best friends, both considered scum by society, and both considered siblings to all Weasleys.

So honestly, would it even be _human_ to be happy?

He sat in his apartment one night, staring off into space, when he heard a knock on his door.

And there she was. Angelina hadn't changed one bit.

She kissed him.

Just like that, out of the blue, not even saying hello first.

And he didn't know what to do. For nine years, he'd been dreaming about that kiss, and now, he didn't know what to do.

So he invited her in. And one thing led to another.

And god, he felt like scum. With his arms around her, he felt like complete scum. But he didn't know why.

Until she said it. Just a whisper, a breath, but still there was no mistaking it.

_Fred._

And then it hit him, when she whispered that bloody name, the name that had never been his, he knew.

She didn't love him, and would never love him. She loved the man who shared his face.

She was here because he was Fred with a different name. That's all he was to her.

But he wasn't. _He wasn't, god damnit! He wasn't Fred!_

With tears streaming down his cheeks, he kissed her forehead one last time, and said goodbye to the girl he would always love and whose heart would always belong to the one with whom he shared the cursed face.

He wished he wasn't a twin. Wished it so hard it hurt.

And when Fred came to talk to him the next day, he told him.

He _screamed _at him.

He told him he was tired of being second best. That he was tired of being the afterthought.

That he was tired of being a copy, of being a clone.

That he wanted an identity, that he wanted a separate soul.

He told him he was tired of being his twin, that he wished Fred had never been born.

He told him he hated him.

And then Fred told him the news.

Quietly, calmly, he told him that Harry, Ron, and Hermione were back, and they were fighting in Hogwarts. That it was the last battle.

They went off to the fight.

And George survived, his anger fueling his curses. He yelled the two evil words and watched the evil man before him crumple, hardly even noticing. He was in rage; he hardly cared what was happening.

He'd feel like a slug about that later.

And then came the respite.

He trudged back to the hall, sweat on his brow, wand in hand. He looked upon the row of bodies. And then he saw the sea of red.

And he knew.

Someone was dead, he knew.  
But he never thought it would be who it was.

His eyes went wide, and tears streamed down his face.

This couldn't be happening. This was impossible. He couldn't believe it. He just couldn't believe it.

He fell next to Fred, shock and terror flooding him.

No.

No.

He hadn't wanted this.

He stared at the man, no the boy, that lay beside him (because really, they were barely twenty, still young, oh god, they were still nothing but kids), at the boy he had said he hated just hours before, at the boy he loved, had never been without, had said he hated, had lied that horrid lie to. He didn't. He never, ever had. He never would have been able to, no matter what he had done or hadn't done. Because he was Fred. But Fred would never know.

And he blamed himself.

He had wished it.

He had.

He had wished he wasn't a twin.

Well, he had gotten his wish.

It's funny how wishes turn out sometimes.


End file.
